The Steward and the King
by omishiloh
Summary: He succumbed to the darkness with the same certainty as he did the blindfold as a boy.
Author's Note: From my blog, thefirelightsglow. Found this gem, and wanted to share. It is in no way tied to _The Captain's Wife_ , though that also features Boromir.

Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings in any of its forms. This is only for entertainment.

Warnings: AU. A sort of blend of movie/book verse.

The Steward and the King

He remembered grey eyes bending over him, and peace.

It's like when he and Faramir used to play "Fox and Hound" - he, the hound, would blind himself to 'sniff out' Faramir, the fox. They would take a scrap of dark cloth and tie it over his eyes. He would check to make sure he could not see, and then go on the search, hearing Faramir tease laughingly,"I'm over here!"

He knew he would eventually find Faramir and the sunlight would be in his face again, warming his skin. It was that confidence that kept him going in the game, even when they scared themselves silly when he nearly fell off the edge of the wall.

This time seemed no different. He knew he would see light again. As soon as Aragorn bent over him, eyes clouded in concern, guilt, and - forgiveness…. he succumbed to the darkness with the same certainty as he did the blindfold as a boy.

* * *

He next remembered not pain, exactly, but pressure. Murmured voices. And then, song. His name, being blessed by the three winds. Without opening his eyes, he could see the city again, _his_ city, shining white. And there! The silver trumpets, while banners flew in the brisk wind.

His vision changed, focused: the top of the Citadel, where his father used to stand considering the city. Denethor had not always judged from the hall of stone; in early days, he held court outside.

But instead of his father…it was the Lord Aragorn. He was standing where the battlement came to a point, looking beyond the fields of the Pelennor. He was dressed not in the Ranger clothes Boromir was familiar with, but in a warm cape and armor, emblazened with an unfamiliar insignia.

Beside him, a talk, dark-haired figure. Long hair, somewhat rumpled; the cape he wore was not quite scarlet, but deeper. _The color of sacrifice,_ he recalled his brother saying once.

 _Faramir!_ he called, though in this dark place, he knew he had no voice.

The figure turned, and Boromir suddenly came to, in shock, and because in the waking world, Gimli had to set the boat they were carrying down to reach for his axe.

In the next few minutes -"Stay down, Borormir!" - he had only enough time to register two things: it was _himself_ standing next to Lord Aragorn, and two, the sun was on his face.

* * *

"You gave us a scare, laddie," Gimli said later, wiping his axe free of blackish blood. It had been a brief skirmish, with the straggling remnants of the Orcs who had captured the hobbits.

Propped up as he was, Boromir could just cough some words. "I - know -" he wheezed, carefully. He could feel wrappings on his chest and there was no small tenderness.

"Hobb-its?" he tried experimentally. The Dwarf hummed in the back of his throat, tossing aside the cloth used to wipe the blood. "Ahead," he answered. "The lords Legolas and Aragorn are listening for them now." He nodded to Boromir's left.

Aragorn was stretched out on the ground, as he had been so often before; eyes closed, left hand placed completely flat next to his face. His face was drawn, hearing something they could not. Legolas stood next to a tree and seemed to be… _talking...?_ to it.

Looking back at Gimli, Boromir realized he was being studied. It was not difficult to understand why - after all, he did try to take the Ring. He could not determine the Dwarf's expression, though he knew the Dwarf well enough by now.

"When?" he tried again, and this time the word was clearer. The Dwarf interpreted correctly.

"Three days. We think they are taking them to -"

"Isengard," Legolas filled in. The Elf had approached quietly. "The trees whisper of fear and Orcs in that direction." He crouched next to Boromir and examined the wrappings.

"You are healing well," he said. "The three winds have blessed you indeed." Boromir smiled questioningly, but the Elf did not explain, only stood and called for Aragorn.

The Ranger got up easily, as if he had not lain down at all, and crouched as Leoglas had done.

"How do you feel?" he asked. Boromir met his gaze and knew what he was really asking.

"Free," he said, finally. Aragorn stared in mixed shock, surprise, and caution.

* * *

The next morning, Boromir was able to move around well. Whatever healing had been done was done speedily. "Like the wind knew," he heard Legolas mutter and knew, mildly irritated, he'd have to ask someday just _what_ the Elf was referring to.

Not having the patience to ask, he instead shouldered his pack - made lighter at Gimli's request, who took on the extra weight - and paced himself.

Three days.

Three days to find the precious hobbits who reminded him so dearly of hope. Brotherhood. Who had taught him there was light yet in their world.

" _Do you hear It?" he had asked them once, during a boring march. "Hear what?" Pippin responded, looking puzzled. Merry looked a little more grim, but said, "We've not much to tempt us, Lord Boromir - there's not room for glory or riches in the Shire."_

 _Boromir was comforted for the next many miles._

"Let's hunt some Orc!" he heard Aragorn call, and pushed forward with renewed determination.

* * *

Hours later, he threw himself to the ground. Aragorn had called a halt to listen again. Boromir wondered if the Ranger had learned this as a child, and amused himself with the mental image of a tutor bending over young Aragorn, " _Listen,_ child, don't nap!"

What he had said to Aragorn was correct. He felt free. _It_ was no longer present, pushing resentment toward the "pretender", the "usurper", as he used to think of him. In fact, Boromir felt kinship toward the man, a sudden loyalty he was not entirely comfortable with yet.

The vision. It was himself standing next to - his King. Because that was the only way Aragorn would allow himself to enter Minas Tirith. Early conversations with Aragorn, initially started over strategies to avoid company during their trudge to Moria, revealed that there was no desire to take Denethor's place.

In fact, Boromir once remembered a pained expression when Pippin had laughingly called Aragorn 'my liege'. The hobbit had been asked to fetch some wood, and when he returned, he bowed and said with a flourish, "I present to you wood, my liege." It was innocent fun; Pippin had been in high spirits with the retreat from the cold of Carahadras and calling everyone by silly titles.

But Aragorn had not taken it lightly, and later took the first watch, frowning deeply.

* * *

When they discovered the borders of Rohan, Boromir felt himself relax. This was land he knew.

How many times had he and Theodred bantered? How many times had they discussed trade between their two countries, envisioning a future in which there was no shadow?

"Need to rest?" he heard.

'No," he answered. "I am well."

Aragorn nodded. "That is good to hear." He paused, and Boromir could feel the weight of many questions.

He had to convey his changed loyalty somehow.

"I am well," he said again, adding, "my captain. My King."

* * *

Gimli blamed Boromir for the extra miles.

"What did you do?" he asked Boromir when they camped that night. The two were sharing watch while the exhausted heir and Elf slept.

Boromir wasn't going to lie. Not with freedom from _It_ at long last.

"I called him captain. My King," he said simply.

Gimli stared, for so long Boromir shifted uncomfortably.

"That was why he shouted and we had to run?"

Well, disturbing the nearest band of forest creatures had not exactly been Boromir's intent when softly claiming Aragorn as his king. But Aragorn had literally whooped for joy, and then they had had to escape the stampede of deer it had frightened.

It was fortunate the plains were quite close.


End file.
